


The Night Side of Eden

by sick_boy



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, Red Dragon - Thomas Harris
Genre: Anniversary dinner gone wrong, Basically takes place in Red Dragon book universe but i imagine Hugh Dancy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Poor Will, Protective mother hen Molly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1891644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sick_boy/pseuds/sick_boy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a panic attack in the middle of his anniversary dinner at a fancy restaurant with Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Side of Eden

**Author's Note:**

> So i haven't been writing much, as of late. Been very stuck, but i have this little bit here. Only "solution" to writer's block is to lower your standards and move on... i do wonder who they'll cast for Molly, when exactly we'll see her. As much as i love Willana, it appears the events of season 2 have shattered their chance of becoming canon.
> 
> However, this fic takes place in the Thomas Harris' Red Dragon universe. So Will didn't go to prison. Basically has the characters/casting of NBC Hannibal with a pre-Red Dragon universe. There's probably only one more chapter, but i'll leave it open just in case.

The man two tables over tipped his wine glass and Will was gone.

It was the careless grace in the movement, the effortless perfection that caused Will’s body to seize up.

 _Fuck, not here,_ he swore to himself, not in the middle of some fancy steak house, but his body had betrayed him. Once the rollercoaster ride had started, there was no getting off until it had run its course.

“Will?” Molly said, eyeing his rapidly expanding chest. All he could do was let a whimper emit from the back of his throat as his hand spread over his sternum. _Weak._

“Baby, what’s the matter? Are you having an allergic reaction?” She grasped at his tremoring left hand over the table. They hadn’t even touched the bread basket that had been delivered to them but a moment ago.

“M... N- no,” he pleaded with his eyes for her to understand.

And Molly did. She knew that look, the glimmer of wild panic barely contained. After her first husband Christopher had died, there were times when she thought she would go insane from the simple reality that he was no longer there. The cancer had given them a little over a year, but in all its cruelties, Molly ended up wishing that time away. Wishing she had more, wishing he would stop being in pain right that very second, wishing she didn’t feel like she was racing against time falling away in an hour glass.

Will’s situation was different, of course. All she knew was that Will used to be in the FBI, and it hadn’t ended well. So, from time to time, he had panic attacks, triggered by what, he would not say. She knew it wasn’t from a lack of trust, merely an inability to talk about what gave him his winding abdominal scar.

“Can you make it to the bathroom if I help you there?”

Another shake of his head followed, his tearful eyes fixated on the edge of his empty plate. As much as he wanted some semblance of privacy, he couldn’t move, couldn’t stand with his legs quivering as they were, tingling in his fingers and toes.

She scooched her chair over next to him, not minding the women in their two-hundred dollar gowns pursing their lips or tuxedoed men giving them side eyes.

It may have been a four-star restaurant to celebrate their one year anniversary, but Molly was not a woman who cared about social niceties no matter where she was. She wore her nicest white beach dress- a little low on the cleavage, she admitted, but what the hell. Completing the outfit was her peach, faux-leather handbag and three-inch heels, which she regretted ten minutes after putting them on. Flip-flops were almost all she wore, and in her garden, she worked barefoot. Will wore his old, musty tux, which had sat in the same plastic dry cleaning wrap from after their wedding. They made quite the pair, surrounded by diamond earrings, gold necklaces, and pretentious conversation, but neither of them were ashamed of their class backgrounds.

Will, however, had a great deal of shame when it came to his “weaknesses,” as he saw them. This hadn’t been the first time he had a panic attack while they were out, but the other couple times there were fewer people around, and Will was less self-aware.

One hand in his, the other went to rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s gonna be okay. It’ll all be over in ten minutes, you just have to wait it out.”

The waiter approached them.

“Some more ice water, please, thank you,” Molly dismissed him and went back to Will, whose sweat was starting to show under his arms.

“Lets get your jacket off,” she said, and helped him out of the arms, laying it back on the chair. Then she unbuttoned the top two buttons on his dress shirt.

The thoughts were starting. That this was it, this was him going insane, breaking apart, spilling. Time was stretching; seconds seemed like minutes, which seemed like hours. It had been ten minutes already- how could he keep going on like this, chest heaving, crying in front of strangers? He was insane. He was insane, just like everybody had said, in his past life that always somehow came back. And no one deserved to be married to insanity, Molly didn’t deserve to be dragged into his crazy world.

“I’m-... sor-”

“Don’t you apologize, baby, focus on getting your breath back.”

But he was still wheezing from the effort, his cheeks wet with tears and sweat, aflame with strain and embarrassment. People were outright staring now.

“Close your eyes, Will, close your eyes,” she directed him, adopting a slow, pacifying manner of speech. “Just picture the beach. The tide is going back and forth over the sand, nice and slow. And... the dogs r’all pawing at the water, having a grand old time. They got sand all over their fur and they look pretty damn satisfied with themselves. Can you see it?”

His curls bounced against his forehead as he nodded and gave a small smile, head dipped low over his plate. The back of his hand swiped at his cheeks.

“Then you wade in up to your knees and fish for a while, it’s all real calm and relaxed. Just you and me in the water waiting for you to catch a fish.”

The tension in his chest was starting to loosen; he was more successful when he measured his breaths.

“Where’s that fucking-” Molly started under her breath as the waiter came back with ice water, slices of lemon on the edge.

“ _Thank you_ , we’ll need a few more minutes,” she said briskly. He nodded stiffly then left.

Will’s breath continued to calm down, shoulders relaxing. Molly helped steady the glass of water as he drank.

“Do you want to go home?” She asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the cloth napkin.

Will squeezed her hand and shook his head. “It’s our anniversary,” he reasoned. “You’ve been looking forward to-”

“Nevermind that, are you comfortable staying? Be honest.”

He looked around self-consciously. Most people had gone back to their meals.

“Not really...”

Molly nodded. “When you’re ready, we’ll ditch this place. I’m not too comfortable here either. Old guy over there keeps eyeing my boobs and it’s givin’ me the creeps.”

Will chuckled, squeezing her hand. He had a great appreciation for her sense of humor, especially in times like this.

When Will knew his legs would support him, they threw a few dollars on the table and left. On the way home, Will unbuttoned his dress shirt and closed his eyes, his jacket carelessly thrown in the back. Molly kept the AC up. 

He looked out the window for a while, contemplating what he would say.

“I probably owe you an explanation...” he started.

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” She squeezed his hand.

Molly was giving him so much space, and he was grateful for it, but he felt she deserved to know what happened that caused him to fuck over her anniversary plans. Thankfully, Molly made it clear he didn’t have to tell her, at least anytime soon. He didn’t have the energy in him after twelve long minutes of raw panic. Over a fucking stranger sipping wine in a way that reminded him of... his past.

“Listen, I gotta get a couple things from Murray’s, do you wanna come with me, or should I drop you off at home? Would you be alright by yourself?”

Dinner, Will remembered. He blew it, and there wasn’t much in the fridge.

“I’ll be fine,” he said despondently. “Could use a shower,” he added.

Even after eight o’clock, the Florida air didn’t let up much. Humidity clung to him like a second skin, another layer of grime on top of dried sweat. The rest of the drive was spent in amicable silence.

Once home, Molly quickly changed out of her dress and heels and into a tank top, shorts, and flip flops. They pet the five dogs until they settled down, though they stayed near Will, sensing his emotional disarray.

After sharing a goodbye kiss, Will headed straight for his whiskey, downing a couple of fingers straight from the bottle while Winston whined at him. The burn in his throat was a welcome one; the warmth had conditioned his body to relax, knowing the alcohol would soon alleviate any of his troubles.

He stripped to his boxers and undershirt, put his fancy clothes on top of the washer to avoid dog hair, and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, he came out with his hair wet and tousled about his head like curled blades of grass.

He sat down on the bed in nothing but his blue boxer-briefs. A few dogs settled around the bed, knowing they weren’t allowed to jump on. The urge to lay down and forget the second part of this day ever happened overwhelmed him, and with the genuine weighed-down feeling of fatigue in his limbs, he gave in. With the covers thrown back, he lay on his right side with his back to the door, hair dampening the pillowcase, but this time not from sweat. Just a few minutes, he told himself, until he felt more like himself instead of half-set Jello in someone else’s mold. A mold of a man who gave his sanity to catch serial killers. A man who could think like insane men, because he was insane...


End file.
